half-assed theories & no plans for thanksgiving

i have just finished reading two different suspense novels that were suspenseful…but so so so fucking badly written. one was a writer who apparently has written dozens of books & won awards. has she just gotten lazy? or have readers become lazy & writers aren’t trying? or is the market just saturated with bad writers and it is difficult to find a well-written novel these days?

fuck a duck.
i need to write a book. no, i’m not a great writer, but i can write decent dialogue, goddammit. i have read a few blogs on here where there is brilliant dialogue. i don’t think someone who writes crappy dialogue should be given awards & book deals. but that’s just me.

i have mentioned a couple times that in my teens & early twenties i wrote a half a dozen books or so. none are published.
and then i quit writing books–when i should have kept writing & tried to get better.
why did i quit?
i just lost the ability.
and got distracted by men.
this all happened around the time that i met & became good friends with paul tobin. so it is now my working theory that not only men i dated took the best pieces of me but also men i was friends with.
paul tobin stole my writer’s soul.
when i met him he only wrote comics & semi-autobiographical short stories. he was all envious of my ability to pump out full length fiction. he would ask me all kinds of questions. after becoming friends with me he was writing novels, & i could only come up with short fiction & semi-autobiographical comics…. and he never took me seriously…even though i went to  him for advice on comics & writing. he just treated me like a bimbo & then took off with my novel-writing abilities. these days he will barely return an email. he got what he wanted.
it’s a theory.
what else could it be?

so how do i get my novel-writing soul back?  of course…my novel will have pictures, as all should. who’s idea was it to take all the pictures out of books for grown ups? as if.

and it is thanksgiving. i waited. i received no invitations. maybe i was supposed to invite people here? i’m better at being a guest than a host. trust me.

i could butcher a couple of ducks. i mean, too many males…& y’all can guess how i am feeling about males these days….

okay.
i don’t like thanksgiving. i don’t. you know, alcoholic father…bitter mother…november in illinois.
then i married two different men who’s extended families were not drinkers.
a dry thanksgiving? are you mad???

anyhoo. 
i will be doing art, working on my soon-to-be-best-selling novel (with pictures) & watching the incredibles 2 (which i have only been waiting like 13 years to see) and maybe some reruns of remington steele & moonlighting as i am now convinced that they were instrumental in allowing me to release my innate feminism while living in a catholic (aka women-hating) small town (aka women-hating) farm family…so i’m thinking my boys would benefit.

wow.
i think the flavor of the day is bitter.
with traces of sweet…there is always sweet
you just have to get past the bitter & will find my sweet.

 

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moses jones episode 3 page 6

here is another page. i am having fun with creating moses jones pages again. judging by audience participation (number of likes & comments) mojo is not nearly as popular as my other creations, but i love her–so i will keep writing her.
plus,
this comic is another way for me to work out my feelings as a mother, as an ex-wife, and as someone who used to live in a dysfunctional intentional community.
it’s kind of like my self-portrait art journal…but a bit more involved.

moses jones episode 3 page 5

my brain is being pleasantly peaceful & neutral. which is great for me…but usually means no new art journal pages as i have nothing to obsess about right now.
so weird.
but! i decided to take the opportunity of having a vacation from angst to do a new page of moses jones.
fun story…just as i was finishing this page & thinking how i like the way it looks, i spilled a full bottle of black ink onto the page…and my journal…and the floor.
again, my brain took it in stride (i might have someone else’s brain right now) and i quickly chose to salvage the page first, the floor next (not realizing i had also spilled ink on my journal) and then my journal once i realized it was in a pool of ink.

so…thankfully my art is usually messy, but if it seems a bit messier than usual….
& moses jones pages tend to be darker than my other work. but this one might be a bit darker than usual…in more than one way.
i only cried a little while inking it.

update: on my desk

having art to work on
really helps that urge
to just disappear

i have started a new page of moses jones. oddly, it is very similar to some panels in the first episode. i did not do that on purpose, but it creates a nice continuity? maybe?

also! someone has commissioned work from me! well, he wanted three pieces of art, but only one of them was actually available. one is a journal page & one is a piece i am pretty sure i gave to dusty a long time back?
so!
i am re-creating both pieces. which is both fun & daunting because i have that “don’t fuck up!” voice in my ear & 13 minions (actually four but with the combined chaos score of 13) literally bouncing off of me as i am poised with a brush full of ink trying to make a straight line. and i’m all in my head saying, “fucking michelangelo didn’t have to put up with this shit.”

maybe i should strap myself to the ceiling & do all my artwork suspended in the air.

part of the charm of my work is all the fuck-ups & messy bits, right?

where’s my ass?

in a valiant effort to ignore the fucking heartache i am suffering right now, i am trying to update some of my pages so they don’t look like utter crap…right now i am working on my page of comics i have started…but not finished.
(if you want to volunteer any web-building skills? i can pay in inkings! or duck eggs!)
so i’m scanning in some old comics when–i realize i am missing comics! hard copies…yes, my filing system would indicate i am a genius per all those “you are a genius if” articles that i suspect are designed just to make those of us who have a tendency for absentmindedness feel better…however, it makes it impossible for me to find things.
i always put things in a safe & obvious place, and then promptly forget where they are.

so i’m in the process of tearing my house apart (aka: cleaning) to try & find said comics. so far, no good.

meanwhile….

man, i miss making comics.

this comic is one i started writing as i became increasingly disillusioned with living in a co-op. if you ask me, it is brilliant. of course, i never finished it…yet.

disappearing smile

i was so
preoccupied
looking at who i was
in our relationship
so bewildered
by my own behavior
by what i had
become
i never noticed
you
i never really saw
who you were
i pretended
you were
innocent & good
i trusted you
when you told me
you were perfect
because
what else could you be
if i was already
the monster?

i played around with this one a little. i don’t actually look like a cheshire cat…but he is one of my favorites in the land of alice.
plus i’m home alone with three cats right now and (i’m not a cat person.) so when i went to draw myself as a monster….
i mean, playing with hearts as if they are made of catnip? or, in the case of my cat roscoe, the thing you pull off a bottle of milk to open it. that plastic ring. a heart as a plastic ring? i mean, i did play with hearts…but only the still beating ones.
never realizing that mine was being played with as well….

okay…that might show up in pages to come….

without a broken heart

i’m trying to figure out
how to live
with a heart
that is not broken
so much of my life
has been spent
ensnared
in my own pain
dancing to the beat
of my
perpetually broken
heart
all my days spent
first
trying to heal
& then
breaking my self
all over again
so much of my life
broken
i have no idea
how to live
without
wrapping myself up
in my own
misery.

i wrote down the thoughts on this page after commenting on someone’s post about broken hearts.
i liked the idea and this poem is my attempt at flushing out the idea of learning to live with a heart that is not broken.
i might play with it more.

the dodo bird is my spirit guide as i try to fly.
reminding me not to be too trusting.
reminding me to survive.

i have been thinking a lot about starting to do comics again. my latest posts are a bit cartoon-y…which i have to keep reminding myself that that is okay. it is okay to draw the way i draw. it is okay to not be michelangelo.
but maybe my subconscious is trying to steer me back to comics. i like to draw. i like to write stories…comics make sense. i just have to accept that, also, i am never going to be stan lee.
i am me. i have my own style. i have my own story to tell.

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